


That girl is a gift

by Alayne_StoneColdFox



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alayne_StoneColdFox/pseuds/Alayne_StoneColdFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark helps Petyr Baelish get through a very dull birthday party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That girl is a gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariannenymerosmartell](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ariannenymerosmartell).



Petyr laughed along to a joke that wasn't funny, told by someone he didn't like, with a glass of wine in his hand that he hated the taste of. A gifted bottle of 2009 Chardonnay that had been thrust towards him in a gaudy gold glittery bag, and opened and insisted upon him before he had time to mention that he favoured red. It tasted like a watered down blend of kerosene and vinegar, and to make it worse, he'd let it sit, and now it was warm. As he swallowed it down it vaguely reminded him of drinking actual piss.

On the matter of birthdays and birthday parties, Petyr Baelish wasn't a man who could boast he had had many good ones. Once you get past the age of simply enjoying having the company of your mother and father, the two maids, and a couple of lego sets and a cake in the shape of whatever cartoon character was your favourite that year, birthdays tend to become disappointing. Around the age where you become awkward to buy for, when your not into sports or cars and you've never been allowed to get a cat anyway, and you instead ask your father for a pair of velvet trousers because you saw David Bowie had some in a music video, and he hits you with the back of his hand across the face because boys shouldn't ask for those sorts of things, and your mother just pretends that never happened, and then you don't even get an envelope full of money thrust at you, because it turns out your families never been as rich as they pretended to be, and you start to realise that your parents marriage is perhaps falling apart and love is a lie because when you get older all these things start to become more apparent, and honestly you wish a couple of lego sets could cheer you up like they used too, but they don't, and getting older is terrible.

He drank down more of the piss chardonnay.

There was a brief period in his twenties when alcohol and drugs and yachts in cannes became a viable option for celebrating his birth, and so far Petyr Baelish was quite sure the best party he'd ever had had been one of those, he just can't quite remember it.

But now he was old, with grey in his hair, and his wife Lysa had gifted him a nose hair trimmer and their house was full of her friends, and their terrible conversation, and their terrible wine, and they'd gotten him a red velvet cake, which shouldn't really be considered a real kind of cake, because it's awful, and he'd never indicated in his life that he ever liked such a terrible kind of cake.

Honestly the highlight of this party was Sansa Starks dress.

She was sat over on the sofa with her siblings, all looking awfully out of place, all dragged here to this dull adult affair to be polite, and she smiled and made polite conversation should anyone initiate it, and to her credit, kept the glances down to her phone at a minimum, but he could see she was dreadfully bored. He could relate. Petyr was vaguely aware of some woman with horse teeth and an unflattering blonde bob talking besides him about how much her dietary life had changed after cutting out gluten and processed sugars, but honestly. That dress.

The lightest shade of pink. The most delicate shade of the colour you could imagine, practically white, but not quite that innocent. And satin? Where on earth had she thought to do this to him, to choose this dress, to drape it over her svelte figure, and waltz in here knowing she looked like some sort of dream. Satin was for lingerie, and thin robes, and night gowns, all those wonderfully inappropriate garments that only just hid a girls nakedness.

Petyr's eyes roamed from the strap of her shoe around her ankle, all the way up to the satin hem of her dress that sat ruched up at her thigh, and imagined Sansa's nakedness.

He wished she wasn't wearing a bra. God, he could only imagine spying the peaks of her nipples through thin satin, and frankly that would be a far greater gift than any nose hair trimmers money could buy.

Once he and Lysa had come around to the Starks home to bring Robin to one of Bran's little birthday parties. A pool party. They'd all sat around the deck under the shade while the kids splashed and shrieked in the water, and Petyr had an entire afternoon of watching a seventeen year old Sansa pull herself up from the water in a bikini. A wonderful sequence. Thrusting her chest forward as she pushes up with her arms on the edge, leaning forward even more to twist her weight around to sit her bum on the edge, wet hair plastered down her back as she pulled and tugged at the very small assortment of triangles barely covering her barely legal body. He watched her run, he watched her swim, he watched her dive, and she watched her smile at him if he ever happened to catch her eye. That had been quite a decent birthday, only it hadn't been his own.

When she slips upstairs, out of boredom, the need to escape, or to simply use the bathroom, he follows shortly after her. 

Just to thank her for coming.

To tell her he think her dress is nice.

Perhaps offer her a drink if she promises not to tell her parents.

**Author's Note:**

> A small birthday gift for ariannenymerosmartell! I couldn't remember your AO3 name if you have one, sorry! Tagged your Tumblr name. The prompt was pretty on theme, with Sansa helping Petyr enjoy his owm birthday....however unwittingly she managed it.


End file.
